The Legends of Herakles
by The Potter Club
Summary: What if there existed parallel worlds? A parallel world very similar to what we know as the Harry Potter books, only 2000 years ago? A world in which Harry Potter is not known as Harry Potter, but as a young boy named Herakles. Destined for greatness just as his counterpart, battling his archnemesis under entirely different circumstances. Will Herakles succeed just like Harry had?
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

Hey, everyone!

We're Sam and Lauren, and this is our very first fanfiction here on FFnet. Feel free to leave any comments, suggestions and corrections for our stories. Unfortunately, we won't be able to update regularly due to school and other circumstances that may come up, but hopefully we will rectify that with large chapters whenever we do upload. Please point out grammar mistakes, English isn't our primary language, so if we make any mistakes in the translations, please say so.

Now, before you start reading a quick overview of what this story is about:  
It takes place somewhere around the middle ages, in a parallel world similar to the HP world. Characters will be mostly the same (we hope), with a few changes obviously. The story evidently will be quite different, but there are certain points which will be similar to what we know of HP universe. Likewise, it doesn't (quite) take place at Hogwarts. Hopefully this wasn't too boring for you(or if you even read it at all, I know how easy it is to skip over it), but it's necessary to work some kinks out that you might not understand.  
Please enjoy and feel free to ask any questions you might have, we'll try to respond as soon as possible!

Disclaimer: We do not own Harry Potter, or any character or idea that has appeared in said books or films. Every other idea we do own.

**Prologue**

2000 years ago, there was once a great and magical place. It was known to those who lived in it as Harawood, renowned for its large forests and the proud city of Raven. It was a place that attracted many, travelers came from far and away to gaze upon it and seekers of knowledge found their place in Harawoods' greatest libraries and academies.

However, the times of peace soon came to an abrupt end. Everything had changed when Voldemort rose to power. The beautiful forests were burned down, cities were destroyed, and people were executed for crimes they hadn't committed.

The people of Harawood were oppressed. There was no means of escaping the hell Harawood had become. They were afraid, afraid of the consequences if they even thought about fleeing. Nothing could possibly save them from their horrible fates, once the great King and Queen of Harawood had died. Magic had been forbidden by the same man who invaded their lands with his knights armored in black, taking away their only plausible means of rebelling against his reign of terror.

King Jameson and Queen Lillian had fallen, murdered by a man they had trusted most, marking the last deaths of the great war and ending whatever hope the people of Harawood might have had. The castle in which they resided, outside the fallen city of Raven, had burned just like the capital had done. Servants had been massacred, or had died in the fire. None survived. None, but one little baby boy. A very special boy, son to the King and Queen, with his father's black hair and his mother's green eyes. A hero had been born, a hero who would once reclaim his homeland and vanquish the monster that had taken it. A hero, and his name was... Herakles.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

Every morning Herakles, more commonly known by his nickname, Harry, would wake up very early. He'd sit upright, hitting his head on the ceiling as he did so and curse violently. Then, he'd climb down the ladder attached to his bed, dropping to the ground and walking over to the window to open the curtains. This was the usual day in the life of the family Peverell.

Today was yet another peaceful day. Harry had had a wonderful dream, in which the lands were peaceful and he was as rich as the kings in the North, with a beautiful Queen at his side. Unfortunately, he was rather rudely awoken when his uncle yelled loudly for him to wake up and come downstairs already. And thus, yet another normal day began.

The black-haired male shot up, hitting his head rather hard against the ceiling. With a muttered curse he nursed his head, certain that he'd have a bruise later. Reluctantly leaving the warm confines of his bed, he climbed down the ladder and jumped down the last step, seeing as it was still not repaired, even while it had been broken for two years already. Shivering slightly when his feet hit the cold floor, he made his way over to the window and opened the curtains to see what weather this day had to offer him.

It seemed like it was going to be a beautiful sunny day, after a cold winter that they were thankful to have survived. Harry couldn't help but smile slightly at that and pulled on his work clothes that desperately needed a thorough washing. He looked in the mirror and as always, his gaze came to rest on the small scar on his cheek. One of the two only things that he still had left from his parents. The Peverells had said that it he had acquired it when the coach he and his parents had been riding, had fallen down into the river. Harry had been the only survivor and miraculously unhurt, except with that small wound on his cheek. They had found him and took him to their home, where they raised him. The Peverells were kind people, as long as you kept them satisfied. Sometimes, they were ecstatic with Harry, considering that Madam Peverell couldn't have any children of her own. However, they had two faces and as soon as the second one appeared, Harry knew he had to get away as quickly as he could. That he had learned after many unfortunate accidents.

Tearing his eyes away from his reflection, he turned his attention to the small desk and opened the drawer. In it laid a small necklace. It was silver, with a charm fashioned to look like a lion with wings. He took it out, carefully cradling the second, and last, memory he had of his parents. The family had told him that the charm looked like that, due to the fact that he was named after the Greek hero Herakles. In the legends, he was after all renown to wear the impenetrable fur of a lion, that had aided him through many of his adventures. The wings, however, were a mystery to the Peverells. Harry himself suspected that it might have to do with freedom, something that was preciously rare these times with Voldemort in power. Fortunately, the Peverells didn't have anything that might put them at odds with the soldiers of Voldemort, that checked weekly if there weren't any 'illegal' practices done in Harawood. Harry himself had never quite feared the soldiers in their black armor, with the now infamous red stripes on every sleeve and down the legs of their pants. Instead, he tried to impress them, to show that he wasn't someone whom they could bully into fearing them. Being afraid was the last thing black-haired male thought of.

He put on the necklace and made his way down the stairs, where Mister Peverell was already waiting. "Where have you been, you slacker. I've been calling for you at least ten times already." Harry stood still on the third step and looked at him, trying to find a good excuse for his lateness. "I sprained my ankle when I went down the ladder, because of the step that had broken two years ago. So I cooled it in the washtub upstairs," Harry answered. "Alright then, I shall look at it sometime. Now quickly, grab some bread and go to work. The crops can hardly keep themselves insect-free." Mister Peverell sent Harry a strict look, before he sped out of the door, most likely going to Hara to see if there was anything to be earned today.

The teenager walked into the living room where Madam Peverell coincidentally was knitting something. It could have been a sweater, scarf or hat, he wasn't sure, but what he did know was that it was extremely ugly. She mumbled a soft 'Good morning', clearly she hadn't slept that well last night, Harry noted, so she probably wasn't all that keen on having a conversation. He quickly grabbed a piece of bread out of the cabinet, downed his cup of milk in three large gulps and ran outside.

While he chewed on the bread, he tried to hit the caterpillars with a stick in an attempt to remove them and put them in a bin so that he could release them further away, or preferably, in the farm of the neighbors. Harry never actually did this however, because he knew the family Walter had a very ill little daughter. He would never be able to forgive himself if he ruined their harvest and so he left them alone.

After two long hours of caterpillar 'hunting', Harry had had enough of it and went on to busy himself with other tasks. He plucked the weeds, gave the plants water and picked up eggs. Some days he had to go to the market in Hara to sell some of the harvest or one of those ugly knitted items that Madam Peverell made, but today that wasn't the case. Usually, he liked to roam through the streets when he had the free time, but for now he was quite content to rest at home.

Lastly he milked Morningstar. She was the only cow and also the sweetest animal the family had, according to Harry at least. He was the one to name her, because she always seemed to graze at midnight under the starry skies. Sometimes he sat next to her in the middle of the night when he was feeling lonely.

After having talked half an hour with Morningstar and bringing her milk inside, he went to the shed to do what he had been waiting for the whole day: practice. He ran into the shed, grabbed a wooden sword out of the haystack and started hitting a bag of flour with fervor. He tried out several movements and did dangerous tricks while maneuvering himself almost acrobatically around the shed. This routine had started three years ago, after Mister Peverell had lost his temper yet again, shouting furiously at the teenager. In Harry's anger at the injustice of the situation, he had stormed to the shed, throwing around a sack of flour. To his astonishment, he noticed leaps of improvement in his mood after that and started seeing as some kind of sport. It was therapeutic for the young male and was often found in the shed hitting the sack of flour and fighting invisible enemies. Every day these past three years he managed to find some time to do it. The first few times he tried this intensive manner of stunts, he had often fallen down getting terribly hurt, because when had he jumped of the loft to reach the rope, he missed it and instead made painful collisions with the ground. Those were days Harry would rather not remember. Fortunately he had become a lot more proficient in his stunts and never missed the rope again.

He climbed up the ladder, reaching the loft and with a leap he jumped off it. His sword hanged precariously in his right hand while the other reached out and grabbed the rope. Swinging effortlessly he slid down to the ground where he continued his dangerous antics.

"Hey, country bumpkin!"

Harry turned around, his wooden sword pointed at the one who had called him that. Then he heard boisterous laughing from the two knights that stood in front of him.

"Heh, you wanted to attack me with that? How adorable." The taller of the two taunted him, grinning in clear amusement. The teenager looked at them, noting their appearances. The taller one was very muscular, his red hair was combed back and he had a beard. For a knight, he looked rather intimidating, but at the same time quite neat. In contrary to his mate that stood next to him. He was also rather large, but it was more fat than actual muscles. Even with his fat belly the man looked very dangerous with his bald head and three large scars that ran diagonally down his face. Most likely caused by the mysterious wolf that appeared two years ago and was seen as a legend around these parts, or so Harry figured at least. He had never seen the animal before, but if it attacked the knights then he was even more impressed with it than before. He had heard no-one ever managed to catch it and all the people could remember was that it had a snow white fur that clearly marked it from the rest of the wolves. One day he would find it himself, to show that he wasn't just a farmers boy. Something to set him apart.

"What do you think you're doing with that puny wooden sword?" Asked the red-head, looking quite disdainful.

"Practicing."

"Practicing?" He and his mate laughed, belittling him.

"So, how many hits have you received from that tough looking sack of flour, huh, country bumpkin?"

"I'm not a country bumpkin!" Harry scowled angrily.

"Well, well, are you hearing that Fox? He says he isn't is a country bumpkin, so what is he then?" The red-head continued tauntingly.

"I'm a fighter." The teenager responded an undertone of anger to his words.

"So the boy thinks he's a fighter, because he managed to defeat a sack of flour. Well, well, prove it to me then?" The tall man picked up a stick, a taunting smile on his lips as he positioned himself. Harry knew that he wouldn't win, but anger clouded his judgement and he assumed a fighting position.

"Ladies first." That was the last straw and with a shout, the teenager ran at the knight. He swept out with his wooden sword, but his opponent easily countered it with the stick. Before Harry even knew it, he was hit on the shoulder. Hard. A startled gasp of pain left his lips and he fell to his knees by the mere force of the blow. Touching the tender spot on his shoulder carefully, Harry stood up again glaring at the other.

"Was that everything, country bumpkin?" A smug grin was on the red-head's lips. Harry desperately wanted to wipe that smug look of his face and with a shout he ran at him again. He was hit again almost immediately, leaving behind an angry red welt on his cheek. They were laughing now, and with an angry roar he threw himself at him again. The older man easily dodged the lunge and with an expertly handled stick, he jabbed him harshly in the stomach, causing Harry to fall to his knees with a moan of pain. The black-haired boy dropped the sword, holding his stomach in pain.

"What's going on here! Leave that boy alone, immediately! You don't have the right to enter someone else's property just like that!" Harry looked up, trying to ignore the dull throbbing of pain and saw Mister Peverell storming inside, anger clearly visible on his reddened face.

"We have the right to enter when we think there's danger. Considering that this boy was practicing, we thought we should give him a hand, isn't that right, country bumpkin?" The knight sent him a warning glance, promising him unpleasant things if he tattled on them. Harry nodded his head slowly, but was inwardly stewing with red hot anger. He carefully stood up and let out another moan of pain when he moved, certain that there would be a large bruise on his stomach by the end of the day.

"Well, it has been fun and all, but it's about time to go back to our knightly duties. Come, Fox." The red-head nodded his head to the bald one and together they left the premises. Harry gritted his teeth, balling his hands in fists. How dare they. How dare they treat him like that, he'd like to see them get through life as a mere farmers boy. Day in and day out, walking through shit, literally. He clenched his fists even harder and then something amazing happened. Suddenly the air is filled with noise, the screeching of the chickens, the mooing of the cows and shouting. He and Mister Peverell ran towards the source of the sudden noise to see what's going on and the sight that met them stumped them. All farm animals including a few errant birds dove down on the two soldiers. However, unlike the pecking and biting you would have expected, they were completely covering them in shit. Birds pooped on their heads, and especially Morningstar gives them a nice, large, present. Chickens were flying around them, every once in a while dropping an egg on them that burst open as soon as they hit their target. Harry couldn't help but laugh, even while wincing because of the bruise on his stomach. It almost seemed like the animals had heard his thoughts and decided to help him. It was almost like… magic.

The knights fought their way through the poop and animals, cussing violently while they did so.

"This is witchcraft!" The bald one shouted, his face having turned into an interesting shade of red from what they could see through the white poop of the birds poop.

"Just you wait, Peverell! You're not rid of us just yet and certainly not your little country bumpkin!" The red-head yelled loudly, before he tried to slap away the birds. Even with this threat hanging above the Peverells, Harry and Mister Peverell couldn't suppress a laugh at the two soldiers' misfortune.

That night a very tense mood hung over the Peverells. Harry lied on the couch, ice on his stomach and a cup of herbal tea on the table next to him, while Mister Peverell told his wife what had happened today. First, he told her about the market, having made quite some profit, before he started telling her about the incident at the shed. She had looked quite concerned when her husband told her about the threat of the soldiers. Harry himself wasn't bothered though. In fact, he enjoyed the thought of it. Let them come, he thought, he had nothing to lose anyway. The only one who truly cared about him was his cow, Morningstar and it wasn't like it mattered much if he died then. Because sadly enough, a cow would easily move on from his death. He needed to get out of this place, not to flee, no, not at all. In contrary, he needed to do that so he could fight against them. So he could do something to against the tyrant that ruled their lands. Like he had done in the shed, to show them that he was not afraid.

He almost immediately threw that idea away. Who was he kidding? He was a 'country bumpkin' that had stood up against some soldiers. There was no way that they found him intimidating, it was probably very amusing to them, to see him being stabbed to death or even seeing him becoming a slave. No, he'd always remain Herakles, the farmers boy and nothing else.

Suddenly the whole house started to shake, the lights flickered on and off and Madam Peverell let out a startled scream while Mister Peverell managed to keep himself standing with help of the wooden table. Harry looked around in shock, to see if there was perhaps an earthquake or if it was storming outside, but all he saw was a rain drizzling down the windows and no sign of a storm of any sort.

Then the door started creaking ominously and he saw the hinges bending slowly. Mister Peverell had grabbed pistol, standing rigidly in front of them, as if to protect them(most likely only himself and his wife however), muzzle pointed to the door while his arm slightly shook. Harry stood up slowly, cautiously and got pulled down under the table by Madam Peverell, close to herself. Even in this situation, Harry couldn't help but snidely think that it was most likely more to protect herself than him, acting as some kind of flesh shield. He kept his eyes on the door, anticipation coursing through him as he wondered if this was where he would die. Never having achieved anything in his entire life.

Then, the hinges finally snapped, throwing the door inwards, a gigantic shadow in the appearing in the opening of the door. Rain was starting to pour inside, a fitting weather for such an ominous ending of their lives. He closed his eyes, awaiting his end with regret.

"Sorry for ta door," a heavy but friendly voice started, "but I wouldn't hafta knock it down if ya had just opened." There was a curious lilt to his voice, something entirely unfitting for the large shadow Harry had seen. He slowly opened his eyes, wondering what weird criminal had burst in the house and was acting this pleasant with a gun pointed to him. What he saw certainly explained the carelessness their burglar displayed in the face of the weapon. It was a giant, at least three meters tall, towering over all of them. But he wasn't a fierce, ugly looking one that had been told and sung about in myths and legends, no, he had a rather pleasant face. He looked like he wouldn't hurt a fly, even if the broken door had proven otherwise. The brown eyes twinkled merrily under the large bush of brown hair and a friendly smile was on his lips. Then, his eyes fell on the gun, as if he had just noticed it for the first time.

"Oh, that's not necessary, I come in peace. Ya can put that away." He smiled at Mister Peverell, sounding friendly the whole time.

"A giant that barges into my home and destroys my possessions! That's no peace!" Barked Mister Peverell to the giant, but despite the clear anger in his voice, he was looking quite pale and fearful.

"Ya can put it back just like that, no need to be so high-strung." The giant responded, easily lifting the door and placing it back where it belonged, only, it was quite clear that it needed new hinges.

"Well now, if ya put away that pesky thing, then I'll tell ya what I'm here for." He looked sternly at the smaller man and in response, Mister Peverell lowered his gun, but he didn't let go of it. The giant, satisfied, went on to sit on the chair that creaked ominously as soon as it beared his whole weight.

"On to business then, I'm lookin' for a certain sir Herakles. I assume ta lad is stayin' here?" Said lad's eyes widened in astonishment, a strange mix of fear and anticipation settling in his stomach. Someone was looking for him and it was no mere soldier, no, it was a giant. The teenager noticed that Madam Peverells arms had tightened around him, clearly she wasn't going to let go anytime soon. Nonetheless, he tried to worm his way out of her tight grip.

"I'm guessing ya ain't him," the giant nodded to the only other male adult in the room. "I've been gone a long time from ta court, but not that long." The court? Harry's curiosity reached new heights, his fear being overwhelmed by it. He was always more of a 'charge in head first' kind of guy. Finally he managed to get away from Madam Peverell, crawling from under the table.

"I'm Herakles," he began, "but they call me Harry." As soon as the giant saw him, his eyes started tearing up.

"Oh lord, you look so much like them." He sniffled, crushing him in a painful hug.

"Harry my boy, ya've become so big. Last time I saw ya was when you were just this lil'." He vaguely made a shape about the size of a flowerpot.

"What do you mean, sir? Who are you?" He looked so much like who?

"Oh, how terribly rude I've been to ya, my name is Rubeus Hagra, ta stable hand of king Jameson and queen Lillian."

"Uhm, alright, but what do the king and queen have to do with this? They've been dead for sixteen years already after all." Harry couldn't help but state confounded.

"What they have ta do with this?!" Hagra shouted with a booming voice.

"Everythin' Harry! Everthin'! Have ya never told ta boy anythin'?!" He glared at the Peverell couple, a thunderous look on his face.

"It was to protect him," Mister Peverell said weakly, fear clearly heard in his voice.

"Protect him! To keep him for ya self, ya mean!"

"W-Wait, what am I supposed to know then? What have you kept from me?" Harry interrupted, a slight stutter in his voice from the positively livid expression on Hagra's face, that didn't stop him from glaring at Mister Peverell however.

"Harry, yer ta lost son of Jameson and Lillian," Hagra said, taking advantage of the slight pause to answer him.

"What? No, no, that cannot be. I'm not the son of the king and queen, I'm the son of James and Lily," he ignored the nagging voice in the back of his head that the names were too similar to be a coincidence, "two farmers who drowned in a river during a storm," his voice faltered slightly, suddenly unsure of himself.

"Is that what those two hicks have told ya, that they drowned in a river! Ya parents died while fightin' for their kingdom! Protecting ta whole of Harawood against ta black knights! Nobody survived that night, Harry... none, except ya."

"But, if they're my parent and I'm their only child, then..."

"Yeah, Harry. Yer ta king of Harawood." Said Hagra with a grin on his face.


	3. Chapter Two

**Author's Note:**

Sorry for the long wait, guys! If I (Lauren) wasn't so lazy, it would have been posted a month ago. Anyway, please enjoy and point out any grammar mistakes. I know my past and present tense is all over the place, not to mention I'm not a native English speaker.

**Chapter Two**

Something was running through the woods. It was fast, so fast that you wouldn't be able to see it, even if it were passing you right under your nose. Four elegant white paws seemingly floated over the moss covered floor, swerving around trees. Almost silently it jumped over fallen trees and small streams. A beautiful white wolf ran through the woods with natural-born grace, but that wasn't the most striking thing to see; for it ran without a goal. It didn't seek prey. It didn't listen to the human noises miles away. It didn't even trample the flowers, but ran around them to avoid giving them such a fate.

The sunlight reflected from the clear white fur and seemed to energize the wolf to run even harder than before. Suddenly, it slowed down to a lower pace and then something magical happens. Its hind-legs changed into shapely legs with dainty feet. The front-paws morphed into arms with hands. A part of the beautiful white fur disappeared and took place for brown clothes, while another part instead grew and changed into long brown curly hair, that shone in the sun light just as much as the fur had done only moments ago. The nose of the wolf vanished in place of a cute small nose and the mouth shrunk until it became a bright smile. This all happened in just the span of five seconds. Everything had changed its form, except those sparkling brown eyes. The wolf-girl kept running through the woods. She seemed to float just as elegantly as the paws had done before and she zigzagged around the trees. On bare feet she ran through the woods while laughing, her hair flowing behind her.

All of sudden, something jumped out of the bushes and she was grabbed by her waist and fell together with her 'attacker' on the ground. Their tumble came to a slow halt, but instead of trying to get away or turning into the wolf she had been before, the girl laughed in mirth. Her attacker captured her hands, pressing them down on the grass and with a grin she called out for mercy.

"Alright, alright, I surrender Bart!" She laughed again, as the boy named Bart kissed her cheek with a cheeky grin on his lips.

"You promise?" He questioned, a teasing glint in his eyes on which the girl nodded to the best of her ability on the ground, laughter still escaping her lips. He let her go and sits upright.

"What are you doing here anyway, Bart?"

"Marcus asked me to look for you, you know that it's too dangerous for you to walk around alone Hermione. If people found out that you were a..."

"What? An animagus? " The smile on Hermione's lips disappeared and makes place for anger. "You know I love you, really, I do. You're my brother, but I _can't _be locked up in that tent for twenty-four hours a day."

"I know that! But just... be careful with your, err, changes. " The boy bit his lip and stroked her cheek.

"Transformation, Bart. And you know I have it under control now. I'm a lot better than I used to be."

"Heh, yeah, that poor rabbit that passed you..." Bart shook his head with a laugh, "I can still clearly remember it."

Hermione smiled and sat down against a tree trunk. Bart joined her, picking a blade of grass and chewing on it.

"What's wrong?" He laid an arm around her shoulders, glancing in her eyes. Hermione looked up, staring straight into the male's green eyes.

"I've been thinking. In two days, it's been sixteen years since you found me and..." She hesitated and Bart looked at her in concern.

"And what?" He asked, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I really do love you all, Zara, Marcus and you, but... no matter how much I love you, you will never really be my family. You're not my real brother, nor is Marcus my real father."

"What are you trying to say exactly?" Bart's eyes were tearing up and his voice was a bit shaky. Hermione could hear the fear in his question and it made the next words even harder.

"Bart, I think I must leave you." The words were told with a stutter, as she too started getting teary-eyed, but her tone was steadfast. Nothing would change her mind on this.

"You can't do this! Not after everything we've done for you- You're family! Families stay together and if you're gone- if you're gone then-!" Tears were streaming down his face. It was an odd sight, as Hermione had only seen Bart cry once before. That time too, had involved her.

On a day like this, when the sun had shined and the winter had just passed, she had been running through the forest. She had loved the fact that her fur became such a beautiful, clear white after winter. It had probably been about nine years since Marcus and his family had found her. Either way, she had been running. First, on her bare feet until she was far enough from the well-travelled paths, before turning into her wolf form. It had been just a normal day then, nothing much had happened. She had jumped over tree trunks and darted over the last mounds of snow. She had even run over the still frozen lake, almost skating over it without falling down even once. When she had finally reached the other side of the lake, she hadn't bothered to dodge the copious amounts of snow and barrelled straight through it, when all of sudden a terrible pain had flared up in her right front paw. She had let out a painful howl, falling down and morphing back in her human form. Then she had finally noticed the trap clamping itself to her right hand. It had been bleeding profusely and she had thought that that day would be her last. She had had it envisioned already: A hunter would find her and see that something wasn't quite right about her. Next, he'd skin her alive or bring her to a nearby village to sell her as a slave, or worse to researchers who'd crack open her skull for more information. This hadn't happened, obviously. After what had seemed like an eternity, Marcus had come running with Bart. He had told her that her adopted brother had followed her, until he had lost sight of her right before the lake. Through the footsteps in the snow they had found her. After many painful attempts to remove the trap, the torture had been over. She had cried a lot during those attempts and so had Bart. Hermione suspected that it had been because she had been crying.

She touched the scar on her right hand at the memory. She felt guilty for what she had decided, especially when she remembered all that the family had done for her. It pained her, but at the same time she felt stronger because of it.

"Bart... I need to find out what had happened to my parents. I need to know."

"Why? They're probably dead. Reduced to ashes. Ash that might as well be floating on the other side of the ocean right now."

"Or they might be slaves, waiting to be freed to be reunited with their daughter. And if they're dead, I want to know. I can't live like this anymore, Bart, this uncertainty... the emptiness I feel inside of me. The only thing I can remember is fire and screaming. Awful screaming, signifying the end of Raven. The only other thing I have left is the book with fairy tales, something I've already read a thousand times." It sounded harsh, but Bart could also hear the sadness in her voice. It was silent, the only sound the rustling of the leaves. Eventually, he was the one to break the silence. He swallowed and brushes away the tears on his cheeks before he began to speak.

"H-How did it go again? The story? Can you tell me, like I always did for you?"

Hermiones smiled watery and wiped away the tears before nodding.

"Yes, yes of course... There was once a girl with eyes as brown as damp earth and a skin as white as the full moon..."

After a while, Bart and Hermione noticed that it was already getting late and they decided to walk back via the public road. Hermione hated walking on the rough, rocky road, since it hurt her feet. Thankfully there was also a strip of grass next to it, so that it was bearable. They talked inanely about everything they could think of, when they suddenly heard loud noises. The female looked up in shock, and Bart only just managed to push the two of them to the side before they were hit by the coach that swept by.

"Goddamn city-goers! Are you alright, Hermione?" Hermione nodded and took Bart's hand, who pulled her upright again.

"I'm alright, only a bit shocked." She responded, still looking a bit shaken. She looked down the road, seeing that the coach had come to a halt.

"They better have stopped to apologize, come on." The male pulled her with him towards the vehicle. While walking towards it, they saw the door open and two long, black boots appeared. "Leather and fur. Can't be anything but a rich guy. What do you think, Bart?"

"No idea, but if he's rich, then he's a rich asshole."

Coming closer they finally could see the person completely. It was a long blond man. His posture was elegant and his clothes looked expensive and clean. Especially the long polished black stick, with a snake's head as handle looked impressive. He didn't look like he was old enough to need it, either. Another object caught Hermione's attention however. It was a long, black leather coat, completely covered in gray fur.

"Bart... that's made from wolves." He heard the fear and sadness in Hermione's voice and pulled her behind him while trying to comfort her. Then the aristocratic male looked up, looking surprised at the sight of them, as if he had just seen them. He looked at Bart like he was looking at something particularly filthy.

"So these are the people who almost ruined my coach." He sneered at them.

"Lucius..." Bart's voice was close to a growl. The man called Lucius looked surprised.

"Do we know each other-?" He paused, "-Ah, I see, Marcus his son. How is he doing? He still owes me food." The way he spoke indicated that it wasn't meant in a friendly way.

"We owe you nothing. You already took all our possessions, why would you even think we still owe you something?" Bart growled. Hermione knew that if she hadn't been there, he wouldn't be as calm as he was now.

"Well, well," Lucius drawled, "Are you saying you don't have all that fruit or those tents?"

"No, not if you take every animal we hunted, especially the skin and fur to create those tents, and if you hadn't burned down our old village!" He took a step forward, when he felt Hermione take a hold of his arm.

"Ah... and you're Marcus's daughter. Well, you certainly don't have much in common with him for his daughter." Lucius glanced at her. "Strange custom, to walk on your bare feet." He looked at her strangely, before turning his attention back to Bart.

"You should be thankful that your sister is there, otherwise you wouldn't have gotten away with that. Tell Marcus that I want that food, or else something else from the same value at the end of the week. If he tries to run... he won't be a very happy man. I'll know when he does. And if he doesn't have anything by the end of the week, I'll pick something else I find worthwhile enough." Bart was positively boiling when he noticed the glance Lucius shot at Hermione. The man leaned forward, indicating that what he was going to say next was meant more for Bart than for the both of them.

"And let's be honest here... You and I both know you won't like the end result then." With a smirk he leaned backwards again.

"It's about time for me to go. The land doesn't govern itself," He let out a short, cold laugh, "It was nice meeting you." He sneered. "Don't forget to watch where you're going next time." Lucius quickly left after that parting sentence.

"What a nasty man! What are we going to do?" Hermione fumed.

"Dad will think of something. He always does." Bart reassured his sister with a smile. "Come, let's go before mom panics."

"... Yeah, alright." She laughs slightly as the male laid an arm around her and they started walking back.

"Do you hear that!" Hermione suddenly stopped, forcing Bart to stop as well.

"What do you mean? I don't hear anything." He looked at her in confusion. The female frantically looked around, trying to find the source of the sounds.

"Swords..." She whispered.

"What?" Bart was interrupted when she suddenly looked to the right.

"It's coming from there." The scent of blood filled her nose.

"Probably two soldiers looking for a thief or something. Don't worry about it, let's go, Hermione."

Before she could agree, another voice shouting in pain reached her ears.

"Someone is in danger! Bart, we have to help him!" Not giving him a chance to respond, she ran off to the sound of the fight.

"Hermione! Come back!"

The last thing Bart saw was two white paws disappearing in the bushes, followed by a loud growl.


End file.
